How?
by mywarisalreadywon
Summary: Just a thing. Jim and Dean talk faith, and Dean gets some stuff off of his chest. No pairings or anything, just Jim being a good friend for Dean.


**Just something I thought of one day. Also, I love Pastor Jim, I wish there had been more of him, but I content myself with reading Ridley C. James's Brotherhood fics.**

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><p>Pastor Jim Murphy was used to people coming into the church at all hours of the day, and his skills as a hunter enabled him to usually hear them before they came too close. He was rarely surprised by anyone. Sometimes though, he did happen to find someone who could sneak by him. So, as Jim was extinguishing candles after the evening service, he didn't hear anyone enter the church until the voice spoke up.<p>

"How do you do it?" Jim restrained himself from jumping and stood up slowly.

"How do I do what?" he asked, turning to face the speaker.

"Believe," Dean said, shrugging. Dean Winchester, one of the people who Jim trusted explicitly, stood there wearing his traditional worn out jeans, boots, Metallica t-shirt, and leather jacket.

"I don't know if I can give you an answer for that," Jim said. He sat down in one of the pews, and waited for the twenty-three year old to do the same. Dean did, settling down next to Jim and staring at his hands. Jim knew that pushing the young man to talk would only make him shut down, something neither of his relatives could figure out, so Jim patiently waited for Dean to speak.

"Mom used to tell me that angels were watching over me," Dean said softly. Jim was surprised that he willingly brought up Mary. Like his father, Dean stayed away from emotional topics, doing his best to never bring them up or participate in conversations where they were being discussed.

"Do you believe that?" Jim asked gently. Dean's bright green eyes left his hands and drifted up to the crucifix hanging above the altar. He seemed to be searching Jesus's face for something.

"I used to," Dean whispered.

"And now?" Dean's shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

"I can't." Jim turned slightly to look more closely at the boy.

"Why not?"

"If God is real, if angels are real, why is my mom dead? Why did my brother turn his back on me? Why do I not get a normal life? Why does my dad constantly express his disappointment in me and leave me alone? Why would He let that all happen to me? What did I do to make Him want me to suffer? If angels are watching over me, why don't any of them ever try to save me?" Dean asked bitterly. He shook his head.

"From what I've gathered, He's either a loving and merciful God or He's an angry God. If He was angry, we'd all be in Hell. If He was loving and merciful, I wouldn't have this life, my mom wouldn't have been killed by the very thing angels are supposed to fight, and monsters wouldn't exist." The fight faded from his voice and Dean put his face in his hands. Jim gently placed a hand on the young man's back.

"I just don't think it's possible for me to believe." Jim said nothing. He sat there rubbing soothing circles on Dean's back, thinking of what to say. Dean had made some very convincing arguments for not believing. He looked around his church, smiling inside at all the memories. Although Dean didn't believe, Jim knew that Dean saw this church, and most others, as a sanctuary. This building had been Dean's safe haven over the years, and whenever John called Jim to say that Dean wasn't returning his phone calls on a hunt, Jim would check here. Usually, if Dean finished early, he would come here. When Dean was younger, he could sometimes be found in here. He wouldn't be messing around with things, mainly just sitting and either thinking or reading, even though no one believed he enjoyed the latter. After a nightmare, Dean would come here; Jim had found him curled up on a pew, fast asleep, on multiple occasions. Jim wasn't too worried about Dean's lack of faith; he was a good person, even if he made some not-so-good decisions.

"'Amen, I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, "move from here to there," and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.' Matthew 17:20," Jim said softly. Dean leaned into his touch.

"I don't know if I have even that much," Dean muttered.

"I think you'd be surprised." Dean sighed.

"Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Can I stay here for a while?"

"You know you're always welcome here, son," Jim reminded him.

"Okay." Dean's shoulders slumped and Jim could tell that he was exhausted.

"Why don't you go on up to the house; the room is always ready and it's getting late." Dean nodded, standing. Jim listened to the soft thuds of Dean's feet and measure how close he was to the door.

"Dean," Jim called out. Dean stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Goodnight." Dean was silent for a moment.

"'night." And then he was gone. Jim waited, knowing the boy wouldn't go to sleep immediately. He prayed for Dean, for him to find peace in his life. He prayed for John, for him to realize what he had – _who_ he had – before he lost it. He prayed for Sam, for him to be able to put aside his pride and anger so that he could be there for his family, especially Dean. Most of all, however, he prayed for humanity, for mankind to be able to fight monsters and win.

When he had finished, he walked the short distance to his house. He quietly walked up the stairs and down the hall. Instead of going straight to his room, he traveled further down the hall, to the room where Dean would be sleeping. He slowly opened to door, looking at the young man sprawled across the bed. He stroked Dean's hair gently, brushing the dark blond locks off of his forehead. Dean stirred but didn't wake, leaning into the pastor's touch.

"It's okay if you don't believe," Jim said, knowing Dean couldn't hear him but promising all the same, "I'll believe for the both of us, and that will just have to be enough."

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><p><strong>FIN<strong>

**I wanted to include the passage about Cyrus, because the guy wasn't even Jewish, but God chose him to free the Israelites so that they could go back home, and they were like, why is he choosing this guy, he isn't even Jewish and has no reason to help us. And then Cyrus was eventually just like, yeah you guys can go home now, and here's some provisions and camels, yo. But I couldn't fit it in. Cest la vie.**


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